


sweetly through the night

by threeplusfire



Series: Bad Things Come In Threes [8]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Christmas Music, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:52:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2858042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeplusfire/pseuds/threeplusfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ross spent years in a church, and has a fondness for Christmas music. Sips goes along to the Christmas eve service with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sweetly through the night

Ross smiled, sitting on the heavy wooden pew in the very back of the church. The sounds of the hymns, the choir of many voices rising up into the beautiful old building in the heart of downtown. The lights were electric instead of candles, except for the very moment at midnight when one flame at the front was passed from hand to hand lighting little fires in the dark. He loved it though. It felt familiar and gentle.

It wasn’t his church. Ross had not been back inside since the fire. There wasn’t any reason, in his mind. Once he was done, he was done. For all he knew, that ruined ground was bulldozed over and gone. He didn’t want to know, in truth.

This church was of a similar age, but less ornate with its carvings and sculptures. There were no gargoyles on the roof line. Ross wasn’t sure if he was happy or sad about that fact. Sometimes, he very much wanted brothers and sisters like him. Trott once told him that siblings were overrated, and that he was better off without them. Still. 

The stained glass had been replaced at some point in the past hundred years, after the wars and time had done their damage. The colors were less than he remembered, the designs simpler. The glass was clearer too, less bubbled and uneven in places. The church was all done up for the holiday, gold and red and green decorations that made the stone space feel warmer and richer. Poinsettias lined the aisles, and the steps of the altar. This church had a tree up near the piano, something he’d never seen in his own church. It was decorated with tiny glittering balls and a silver foiled star at the top. 

If he unfocused his eyes a little, it could be any time. He couldn’t trick himself into imagining it was his church. The feel of it was different. But the people, they all looked the same. There were ages when he just watched the people coming in and out of the church. He would make a game of trying to find the same ones every week, watching them come and go. 

Sips sat beside him, wearing his suit. The dry cleaners had gotten all the blood out, good as new. He looked respectable, and he even sang along. The hymnal hung loose in his hand. Ross was surprised he knew the words to so many of the songs. Sips sang unselfconsciously, his voice not straying much from his usual speaking range. There was a hint of an accent that bled over as he dragged out the vowels, a little change that Ross had to concentrate to hear. But otherwise it was the same old Sips, the odd gravelly sound of his voice going deep and the slight sharp edge to his higher notes. Ross hummed, only rarely breaking into the words and sometimes beatboxing along until someone near them turned to give him a look. He smiled a little apologetically and went back to humming along, sometimes picking up a few words here and there. It felt strange to be down here now, in the middle of it instead of outside.

“You didn’t have to come along,” he said quietly at the end of the service. They sat watching people file out. Families with sleepy or excitable children drifted down the aisle, people struggling into heavy coats. The lingering sparkle in the air of the church’s magic drifted around them, clung to their hair. Ross lifted a hand and watched the motes slide past him. He tried not to feel sad that it didn’t belong to him the way it belonged to these people.

“It’s alright.” Sips looked around, stretching his arms across the back of the pew. “Haven’t been to one of these since I was a kid.”

“Really?”

“Grew up with it. You don’t forget something pounded into your head every Sunday for seventeen years.”

Ross nodded, thoughtful. He smiled at little girl clutching a stuffed dog to her chest as she walked down the aisle beside her father. She watched him with very wide eyes and Ross wondered if she could see straight through his disguise. He didn’t want to frighten her. She yawned as she went past. Ross pulled his gaze away, letting his eyes unfocus again.

“I used come inside, and sit way up near the roof, listen to the music.” He smiled and leaned forward carefully. The pew creaked but it was sturdy. “I liked the Christmas music best. It was… happiest? And the church was always full.” 

“Well yeah,” Sips agreed. “Christmas and Easter, the two times a year you absolutely show up even if you don’t believe any of it. Had an uncle, commie bastard according to my dad, but he made it twice a year for Grandma’s sake. Came to Sunday dinner pretty often too.”

Ross nodded, clearly not really listening. Sips’ lips quirked into a half smile. With the glamour concealing his horns and his tail, Ross looked almost ordinary. Except for being so good looking, Sips thought. In his winter coat, Ross looked pale and too handsome to be real. Sips wanted to reach over and touch him, almost to make sure he was actually there. Sometimes he forgot how strange they all were. It wasn’t so noticeable until you were standing around other people. 

“I watched them, tried to imagine their conversations.” He gestured out at the almost empty sanctuary. “Wondered what they were like when they weren’t here. What they did. If they sang.”

“People really aren’t that interesting, Ross.”

“They are when you’ve got nothing but time on your hands.”

“I listened to those conversations,” Sips snorted. “Nothing anyone actually said was that great. Spent a lot of time counting hats, trying not to fall asleep.” It was the conversations in the church reception hall, where everyone drank lukewarm coffee and ate pastries and gossiped, that might actually be interesting. 

“People really don’t wear hats much anymore,” observed Sips with a slightly disappointed voice. He flicked the brim of his baseball cap, worn with a certain amount of defiance. Some of the older women in the aisle next to them had tutted with disapproval when he didn’t remove it at the start of the service. But Sips just fixed them with a level stare until they looked away. Kings don’t remove their crowns, even for the church.

“They don’t, do they?” Ross watched the stragglers filter down the aisle. “They don’t sing it all in Latin any more either. I’m not sure if I miss that or not.”

They sat there until the woman playing the piano finished, the last notes hanging in the air. Ross was so quiet and lost in thought that Sips was loath to disturb him. 

Sips tilted his head and looked up around the building. He hadn’t known exactly why he decided to come along. The church wasn’t his favorite memory and he didn’t waste much time on the past. But neither did Ross, and the idea of Ross sitting in a church on Christmas Eve was so damn weird Sips kind of wanted to see it. Smith and Trott were no doubt getting soused in a bar somewhere, as a prelude to picking up some poor bastard spending his last Christmas alone. But here was Ross, humming along to hymns with a bunch of ordinary sad sack human beings in the middle of the night. 

“You ever think about going back?” asked Sips, tucking the hymnal back into the pew.

“No,” Ross said seriously. “I don’t think I could even if I wanted to, now. And the church is gone.” He gestured, one hand moving gracefully upwards like fluttering ashes. He was too different. He could feel it, not just in the peculiar emulation of life he possessed. But his heart, his mind, those things were irrevocably changed by the blood and the magic and the companionship. 

“How does Smiffy get away with half the shit he burns down or kills?” grumbled Sips. 

Ross just laughed and stood up. He reached out again, his fingers sliding through the sparks he couldn’t hold. 

“Come on, let’s go get something to eat.” He held his hand out to Sips, who took it and levered himself up with a sigh.

“I hope that diner over on 5th is still open. I could really go for some pancakes.”

Ross spared a last glance at the softly glowing lights around the altar, before turning towards the door. Sips put his hand on Ross’ back, aware of how they looked to the old man watching them from the door. He smiled, wolfish and sharp. It had been a very long time since Sips was afraid of priests. This one just watched them in silence, and closed the door carefully behind them.

Outside, Sips noticed that Ross’ eyes glowed a bit in the dark. They were very blue, like ice way out in the middle of a lake. 

“You ever want to go back?” he asked Sips as they scuffed through the dirty snow on the edge of the street. 

“Hell no,” said Sips vehemently. “Nothing to go back to.”

Ross nodded. He wondered if that’s why they were together here, all of them. None of them wanted to go back, for whatever reasons. Or maybe none of them could, though the difference didn’t seem to matter much the more he thought about it. He scraped his tail through a pile of slush. The icy shock of it ached all the way through him and he clenched his jaw against the sensation. Ross did not miss the rain, or the snow, or waiting on a lonely rooftop for someone who never arrived. 

“What’s your favorite Christmas carol then?” Sips asked as they waited for the light to change. A few cars drifted through the intersection, mostly taxis and delivery vans.

“Angels We Have Heard on High,” answered Ross after a moment’s thought.

“Really?”

“What?”

“That’s such a weird choice. Most people say stuff like Silent Night, or Let it Snow, or something like that.”

Ross shrugged. When Sips burst into an off key rendition, he tried to help him fill in all the words he didn’t know. Which was most of the song past the first few lines. Ross ended up singing far more of it than he meant but Sips prodded him every time he faltered. He managed to finish it off by the time they made it to the diner. Sips grinned at him, and Ross felt that unmistakable warmth in his chest. They were happy. 

The artificial light in the diner burned a strange off white color, and the neon of the sign outside was a lurid pink. Here they had blueberry pancakes and maple syrup and coffee. Under the table, his tail curled loosely around Sips’ calf as they sat on squishy vinyl seats in a booth with a scratched formica tabletop. Two waitresses leaned against the counter, talking in quiet voices and yawning. Three other strangers ate their post midnight meals in the early hours of Christmas morning, silent islands alone in the room. 

They always came here because the syrup was real and Sips had a hang up about how shitty and terrible fake maple syrup was ruining everything. Ross and Sips ate in an easy, companionable silence that was usually impossible in the presence of Smith. Not only was it quieter, neither of them had to defend their plates from the kelpie’s propensity for stealing their food. Sips poured cream into his coffee, stirring until it was a dirty river water color. Across the table, Ross steadily demolished his stack of pancakes, buttering each one and dragging the bites through the syrup. 

The younger waitress poured more coffee and dropped off a plate of extra pancakes with a muttered comment about the holiday. Ross thanked her and she blushed vividly before dashing back towards the kitchen.

“Ten bucks says she puts her phone number on the check for you,” Sips chuckled as he forked up another pancake. Ross rolled his eyes. “Maybe you should date her, then we could eat in here for free.”

“You date her then,” Ross said around a mouthful of pancake. “You like this place so much.”

“Nah, too much work.” Sips leaned back against the booth, and looked out at the empty street. “I got my hands full keeping you guys in line.”

Ross snorted and kept eating. The silence between them stretched out, comfortable and easy. 

“We should probably go,” Ross said at last. The clock pointed towards the late hour when bars started pushing their patrons out the door and locking up. His hand strayed reluctantly to his coat folded on the seat. 

“Nah,” Sips disagreed. “We got a while yet.” He reached out to fork up a bite of pancake left on Ross’ plate. 

“Alright.” Ross nodded and pushed his plate towards Sips. Watching Sips, Ross licked his fingers absently. He felt a surge of gratitude for Sips’ presence with him, for the way he seemed to understand the undefined urge that sent Ross out looking for a midnight Mass on Christmas eve. Outside the blinking lights on the front of the bank reflected in the slushy pools along the street. Pop versions of Christmas carols played on the radio, and one of the line cooks raised his voice to shout at someone in the back. Sips desultorily finished off the last of the pancakes.


End file.
